that as you age your eyebrows get more sparse and your chin gets more prickly, I wonder?
I sit in the morning looking out to sea, my gaze is centred mainly into the strong magnifying mirror. This way the early morning sun picks out every emerging prickle.
I turn my head this way and that in order to spy out the tough white ones, that like my chins have been around the block a few times. If I grew them I would have a queue of fishermen lining up along the prom for the very latest in strong fishing line. No plastic has been killed to make these beauties... organic even!
It never ceases to amaze me how after viewing my phizog from every which way, the odd one escapes my notice. Hiding, no doubt in a wrinkle the like of which you see on our pothole infested roads.
Much later, coming on strong to a dishy man at a gathering, no not a boil? I trip to the ladies to powder my nose and horror of horrors there smack bang in the middle of my chin is a hair the like of which you would expect to see growing out of a witches wart!